


A Promise Made

by kitkatkaylie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Catelyn Tully Stark Doesn't Hate Jon Snow, Catelyn positive, Gen, Illness, Not A Lot Of Plot, POV Catelyn Tully Stark, she just doesn't like what he represents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25067800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: Catelyn had once promised the Old gods and the New that she would care for Jon Snow if he survived an illness, when he was struck down once more she was forcibly reminded of that promise.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Catelyn Tully Stark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 111





	A Promise Made

Catelyn was many things, the lady of a Great House, and the daughter of another; she was a skilled seamstress, and had a head for organisation that had helped greatly in rebuilding the North after the rebellion. She was also a mother.

Her sweet Robb was her pride and joy, the apple of her eye, her first born. Then there was Sansa, her darling daughter, only six and yet a lady already; Arya, her little terror, the cause of her first grey hair and the child that most made her laugh; and Bran, her sweet baby who smiled more than he cried.

She would have little reason to ever not be happy were they the only children in her home. The Greyjoy ward was not too difficult to deal with, oh he was arrogant and obviously homesick but he and Robb were good friends and the boy had quickly taken to the bow when lessons were offered to him.

It was the other one that caused her grief, the one stain upon her husband’s honour, the bastard. She had been so hurt to see him already installed in the nursery when she arrived for the first time in her new home, so fearful for her Robb’s place when there was a North-dark child there ready to take over should something happen to her Tully-looking son.

While she had not deliberately been cruel to him, she had not been kind either. The kindest she had been was when he was struck down with a fever and the Maester had worried he would not live through the night, then she had sat up with him and woven prayer wheels for his safe recovery.

They avoided each other mostly, and that suited Catelyn fine. she had little time to worry over another child.

* * *

There was one place in the castle where Arya was most likely to run when escaping from her lessons with the Septa, and that was to her brothers’ side, so that was where Catelyn headed. They had lessons with Master Poole on ledgers and the costs of running a keep, an important lesson for anyone to know, even a bastard.

“Mama, Jon isn’t well.” Arya said when she found her, in what Catelyn would have assumed was an attempt to distract her had she not seen the boy herself.

The boy was paler than normal and as he started to retch, in a burst of speed that surprised even her, Catelyn grabbed a basin and shoved beneath his chin just before he was sick into it.

The stench of bile filled the air but Catelyn’s hand did not waver, she had enough babes of her own that she was desensitised to bodily fluids and stenches. Once the boy had finished retching he took the basin himself, allowing her to relinquish her grip on it.

“Sorry my lady.” The child whispered; his face ashen as he clutched the basin in his small hands.

Catelyn sighed softly and brushed his hair away from his face so that it would not get caught should the child vomit again. His skin was hot and clammy and she could see that his eyes were ever so slightly glazed.

“There is no need to apologise for being unwell.” She said, in a voice that was perhaps more brusque than she had expected. A tone that made the pale child flinch as though he had been struck, which sent a jolt through her heart, for was he truly that scared of her?

Somehow he paled even further and hunched over the basin as he started to retch again, he looked so pitiful that Catelyn began to rub his back and murmur soothingly as she would have had he been one of her own children without even thinking about it.

When he finally stopped trembling the child’s eyes were closed, tears leaking from them and she had the strangest urge to offer him comfort in the form of a hug. She had never held him, save once when he was a babe and just would not stop crying, and once the previous year, when he had been so unwell they had thought he might die and she had sat vigil over him.

Perhaps that was why he was ill again, to remind her of the promise she had made. The promise she had not been able to bring herself to keep.

Were the Seven rescinding their favour? And if they were, would they be content with taking Jon Snow or would they target her children as well?

That could not be allowed to happen, she could not lose any of her babies.

“Come on child,” She said in what she hoped was a softer voice, “Lets get you cleaned up.”

She gently helped him stand and then, when the child swayed in place, put a steadying hand on his shoulder to lead him to his room. They passed a maid, who gave them a startled look, and Catelyn was rather short with her when she asked for hot water to be brought up, enough for a bath and for the Maester to be summoned.

She did not care to have her actions questioned, not even if they might have been perceived to have been out of character for her.

The child’s room was cool, its hearth empty, and far neater than the chambers of her own children. No toys or clothes lay scattered about as they did in Robb’s room, instead they lay neatly folded or arranged upon shelves, even his boots were carefully placed by the door.

She had not stepped foot in this chamber since the last time the child had been unwell, and the contrast between it and her own children’s, even the Greyjoy boy’s, surprised her. There was no feminine touch anywhere, the window hangings and furs upon the floor had been chosen for practicality over style, as had the cushions upon the bed and the single chair. The only thing she could see that was not a practicality or put away so that it caused no mess was a patchwork wolf toy nestled on the bed, one that had belonged to Ned’s sister once upon a time.

Catelyn gave the boy a gentle push towards his bed and moved to find him a nightshirt from the neat piles of clothing. If the child was to be unwell it was best to ensure he was washed and put him in clean nightwear before he spent any prolonged time in bed.

She turned back and noticed that he had suddenly paled once more, it was not difficult to cross the small room and pull him so he was sat with the basin positioned under his chin once more. She did not, could not, begrudge the way he leant against her in an unconscious plea for comfort.

Just as he finished yet another round of retching the maid returned with hot water enough to fill the wooden bath that was carried in behind her by two more of the servants.

Catelyn dismissed them all as soon as everything was prepared, informing them to return in an hours time to remove the tub and water. She pretended not to hear them talk about her as they walked away down the corridor, gossip could not be contained forever and at least this was not malicious.

“Into the bath child.”

He looked at her with horror and some embarrassment, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. 

“You have nothing I haven’t seen before child.” She said sternly, “You used to share baths with Robb. Now come on, into the tub with you.”

He obviously decided it was not worth arguing with her for he quickly stripped and entered the tub, a slight flush on his cheeks. He let out a pleased sound at the hot water, and she realised she had forgotten to check him for a fever.

No matter, she would check him later once he was safely ensconced in his bed, for now it was more important that he was clean.

She handed him the soap and cloth that rested on a shelf so he could wash himself, it was mortifying enough that she was in there, he did not need to her wash him as well. He was slow enough that the water had turned cool by the time she helped him out of the water, a fact she attributed to the heat of his skin and the way his hands shook.

Catelyn handed him a night shirt, one worn soft from many washes, one she recognised as having belonged to Robb before he outgrew it. The boy had always been smaller than Robb, and had often received clothes that her son or the Greyjoy boy had outgrown.

“Come child, into bed with you.” She said, turning down his sheets and then tucking them around him once he had settled down. “You need rest if you are to get better.”

She placed a hand on his clammy forehead, and her suspicions of a fever were confirmed. His skin was brutally hot to the touch, and even under the pile of blankets and furs he was shivering slightly.

A sigh escaped her lips without permission and the child flinched to hear it. Catelyn was dumbfounded by his reactions, surely the boy did not think she was sighing because he was ill? Except, it appeared that was exactly what he thought, for he was mumbling drowsy apologies to her even as she tried to reason with his reaction.

“Hush.” She said, suddenly aware that it would likely be a word she would say a lot over the next few days, “Settle down and rest, the Maester will be here to check on you shortly.”

Large grey eyes, Ned’s grey eyes, peered up at her, less clear than they should have been, and Catelyn forced herself to smother a sigh at the sight. Instead she moved to extinguish all but two of the candles in the room, humming as she did so.

She could not bring herself to sing to the boy, but she could still make his sleep a little easier.

His breathing settled into the deep rhythms of sleep, his chest rising and falling beneath the furs, and Catelyn did not stop her humming. If the child woke up so soon after falling asleep he would struggle to return to it, and if her humming prevented that, well, it was no hardship for her.

She settled into a chair by the fire and thought over the preparations she would need to make, to orders she would have to give. They could not risk having an illness spread around the castle, not when Ned had to travel to Last Hearth at the end of the week, not when Bran and Arya were still so little.

Catelyn hummed her way through the tunes of her childhood, those songs that her mother had sung to her, and waited for the Maester. He would know what to do better than she, Luwin always seemed to know best on matters of health.

A soft noise broke her from her thoughts and had her turning to the boy. It seemed he had woken, no doubt from some nightmare brought on by the fever.

“Mama?” The child asked blearily, and Catelyn was surprised at the lack of rage that filled her soul at that word.

“Hush,” She said instead of the rebuttal she would usually make, “Go back to sleep. I shall still be here when you wake.”

She pulled the blankets up and tucked them around him again and waited until he had settled into a deep sleep before moving.

Undoubtedly he would be hungry when he woke, or at least she hoped he was. A lack of hunger would indicate that the illness was far more severe than just the passing bug she prayed it was.

Besides, she needed to distract herself from the name he had just called out for, the name that the boy normally would not dream of even thinking of, let alone voicing. Normally she would have scolded him fiercely, as she had when he had copied Robb as a babe, but she found she was unable to, that his fever glazed eyes and sweat soaked curls were too pitiful to scold.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor had her relaxing slightly, likely it was the Maester. That was good. Very good. It meant that the child calling out for a mother only one person knew of would not have time enough to haunt her.

The door creaked open and the familiar and welcome face of Maester Luwin appeared, his eyes creased with worry.

“Lady Catelyn,” He inclined his head in a nod, “Are you well?”

Catelyn made sure her voice was low and quiet, “I am, thank you Maester, I asked you here because Jon Snow has become unwell. He has a fever and has vomited. He has bathed and is now sleeping, but I believe his sleep is troubled.”

Maester Luwin’s eyes flickered between her and the child as she explained, but there was no judgement in them. It seemed sometimes like he was the only one who did not judge her for how she treated the bastard. Other lords and ladies thought she was too soft, thought she should have had him sent away from Winterfell to be fostered in another keep; still others thought she was too harsh, that she should have accepted him as her own, no matter the threat he posed to her children and the pain she felt at the evidence of her husband’s dalliances.

He looked over the still sleeping child, checking his temperature and pulse in unhurried movements. His presence calmed her, for surely he could aid in whatever illness had befallen the boy.

“It is a passing illness, my lady.” Maester Luwin eventually pronounced, “It has been going around Wintertown these past few weeks, and we’ve had no deaths as of yet. The boy will recover with bedrest and good food. I shall prepare him something for the nausea when he awakes, keep him warm to sweat out the fever and he shall be fine.”

Catelyn let out a sigh of relief and allowed her shoulders to relax, “That is a relief. Thank you Maester.”

Luwin smiled kindly to her, “You have done a good job, my lady. Do not doubt yourself.”

“Thank you.” Catelyn smiled weakly back, “Would you please inform my husband of his son’s illness and let my children know that they are not to come and visit the boy until he is well. I do not want any more sickness within Winterfell.”

The Maester inclined his head and looked at her with that piercing gaze, “And you my lady? What will you do?”

Catelyn lifted her chin, “I shall care for the boy once more, he shall be well looked after under my hand and it will mean we do not have to call another from their work. My presence will also likely be a deterrent for my children to sneak away and visit him.”

There was no judgement in Maester Luwin’s eyes, “As you say, my lady. I shall send a maid with the tonic and food for you both.”

He left the room, leaving her alone with the child once more. Catelyn looked at the child, at the pale face peeking up from beneath the furs and felt only pity, none of her usual rage lay beneath her skin. She laid a hand upon his forehead and softly began to sing, hoping that it would offer him sweeter dreams.

_“High in the Halls of the Kings who are gone…”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This might get a sequel, it might not, it depends whether or not inspiration hits me :)
> 
> Come find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse


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